Page 89 of Thy Kingdom Come

“I’m a parful wee liar,” I angrily cry.

“And?”

“And you fucking own me!”

“Aye, Baby, that I do.”

He hums in satisfaction, knowing that he’s won, knowing that this changes everything. He can hurt me. And I can hurt him. We’re at a crossroads where no one wins, but losing has never felt more like winning than it does right now.

On a sated exhale, he sinks into me, both of us moaning because this depravity hurts so good. He bends down, kissing me languidly. Changing the pace of our coupling, he confuses me with his kindness. His lip ring brushes against me, and I reach up, running my finger over the barbell in his nipple.

I can’t stop wanting him.

He increases the tempo, stroking me in just the right way where I don’t stand a chance and come loudly, finally letting go. My moans are unrestrained, but I don’t care. I cling onto him, his skin slick and warm. It’s nothing short of perfect.

The moment the last cries leave me, he pulls out and spills his seed over my stomach with a guttural growl. The moonlight allows me to see his silhouette, neck arched, back bowed—he is a vision. And I know I own him as much as he owns me.

His breathless pants echo in the room as he gets off the bed, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he uses his shirt to wipe me clean. The gesture just confirms what I knew the moment we met—we’re so fucking screwed.